


The Wild Ones

by bronzeriver



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: A beautiful Dalish asshole, Angst, Cultural Differences, Culture Shock, F/M, In which the Inquisitor is an asshole, Slow Burn, ish?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-26 11:41:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3849604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bronzeriver/pseuds/bronzeriver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trapped by circumstance far from home, she finds herself feeling more like a prisoner than a Herald. Everything feels wrong, especially the untrustworthy glances the Templar with the cold gaze gives her.</p><p>If he wanted a savage Dalish apostate to hate, she would happily play the part.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I thought I’d throw my hat in the ring with a bit of a “reluctant Herald” story. Except, she’s less reluctant and more “um okay wow there’s like, ten times the acceptable shem limit here and I am 100% not okay with that pls what are you doing I am not your herald”
> 
> She’s kind of an asshole but then again, so is Cullen. Basically everyone is an asshole and it’s AMAZING. 
> 
> If you don’t recognise some of the elven I’m using/am going to use, I’m taking most of it from FenxShiral’s Project Elvhen because it’s an absolute godsend and you should definitely give it a look if you haven’t already.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Taking a deep breath and holding it in her chest, the girl – who had seen no more than twelve summers in her life – pulled the arrow back in her bow, the gentle crackling of the taut bow string ringing in her ear. Though the Keeper stood behind her at a safe distance, and their camp was no more than a couple of minutes’ walk to the west, in that moment she was alone in the forest. She let the scenery melt away in front of her as she lined up her shot, taking a moment before letting the arrow loose. It sailed through the air impressively, reaching the old gnarled tree that served as target.  
  
And promptly sailed right past it.  
  
She swore in anger, throwing the offending bow to the ground. If she had been older it would have been rather a fearsome display, but it was nothing more than a fit of childish frustration, something that was not becoming of the First of the Lavellan Clan. Her face burned in frustration as she stared down the ancient tree, hoping that she could bring it down with little more than a steely glance. Failing at even that, she sighed, shoulders hunched in shame.  
  
A gentle sparkling laugh came from behind, as Keeper Lavellan approached her, placing a long, spidery hand on her shoulder in what was supposed to be a comforting gesture, though it only served to make the girl’s face burn hotter.  
  
“Now, _da’fen,_ ” the Keeper spoke gently as she turned the girl around by her shoulders, crouching down so she was at eye level. “It is not the bow’s fault that the arrow missed its mark.” The girl sighed, breaking eye contact with the keeper as she looked over at the discarded weapon.  
  
“No, Keeper.” She sighed after a short pause. “It was my fault, and I shouldn’t blame the stupid bow that I can’t hit a stupid tree with a stupid arrow.” The young girl seethed as she crossed her arms across her body, letting her temper get the better of her. Sighing, the Keeper bent down to retrieve the bow, carefully brushing dirt from its carved wood.  
  
“I think it’s a rather handsome bow, nothing stupid about it.” The Keeper mused, turning the bow over and tracing the elaborately decorated wood with her long fingers. Her eyes flicked back down to the girl with a smile. “Revas put a lot of work into carving it. He must care for you.” At the mention of Revas, the girl’s face flushed. He was an older boy, the markings of June already displayed proudly on his face in deep crimson ink. She thought of his kind eyes, how he taught her how to skip rocks down where the river flowed calmly and carve delicate figures out of blocks of wood. The latter lesson ended in failure, the knife slipping in her timid hands, slicing into her palm. While Revas had transformed his block of wood into an intricate halla pendant, hers was nothing more than a choppy, bloody mess of no distinguishable image. She had decided that rather than endure more bodily harm, she would leave the crafting to the craftsmen. Though it didn’t stop her from spending most of her time around the work tent, if only to spend more time with the kind boy with the rough, careful hands.  
  
The girl looked up and gingerly reached for Revas’ gift, suddenly ashamed that she had treated it with such carelessness. The Keeper smiled.  
  
“I know it seems a useless thing to learn-” She stated before being interrupted by the girl who nodded her head furiously.  
  
“We already _have_ hunters, I don’t know why you need me to go flinging arrows at things.” She exclaimed, exasperatedly flinging her arms in the air. The Keeper raised an eyebrow at her impatience.  
  
“ _But,”_ She raised her voice, ignoring the protests of the young girl in front of her, “It is important. You are the First of the Lavellan Clan and it is important that you know everyone’s place, from the hunters to the healers to the craftsmen.” She tilted the girl’s chin with one long finger to look at her, a small smile turning up the corner of her lip.  
  
“You cannot rely on the hunters to always be there to bring you food, nor can you always rely on the healers to be there to patch you up. _Vir Adahlen_ tells us that we are stronger together than we are alone, but you must learn to be strong on your own accord too.” The girl was silent for a moment, comprehending the lesson her Keeper was so enthusiastically trying to teach her before nodding, letting a small defeated sigh pass through her lips.  
  
“Yes Keeper.” She looked up to the woman with a smile as the older extended the bow to the younger. “ _Ir abelas._ I was wrong, and I’m sorry for acting out.”  
  
“Do not be sorry, _da’fen_ ,” Urged the elder, “Never be sorry for a lesson learned. Now, are you ready to continue?” The girl gave nothing more in response than a short, sharp nod as she reached for another arrow from the quiver securely fastened to her back. The Keeper stood behind her, manipulating the girl’s arms with her own, slowly drawing the arrow taut against the bow string.  
  
“You are the bow and you are the arrow. Take a breath in and let it out with the arrow. Fly straight and do not waver.”  
  
The arrow brushed past her fingertips and sailed through the air.  
  
\---  
  
It was dark.  
  
Creators, why was it so dark?  
  
It seemed like only moments ago that the young elf had been basking in what little warmth the early Ferelden sun had allowed, shivering in her rather inadequate armour. If she knew the Frostbacks was _quite_ that literal of a name, she would have packed warmer. But the young elf wasn’t the person that came to the minds of most when the topic of foresight was concerned, and this display of impeccable intelligence did not go against that. Despite the cold, she was determined to complete the mission that was entrusted to her, so that she could finally go back home.  
  
At the thought of her clan, the elf’s stomach sank. It had been the longest she had gone without seeing her family, and the most physical distance that had been put between them. She had argued childishly when the Keeper had asked her to travel south. To be perfectly honest, she didn’t care the slightest about what the _shem_ in the mountains were planning, but the Keeper felt it important enough to send her First to spy on the inner workings of thehumans. It was unworthy of her to argue, not after everything she had done.  
  
Confused, the girl attempted to lift herself off the cold, unfamiliar stone below her before crying out in pain. It seemed even the act of shifting her own slight body weight was too much for her. She fell back to the ground with another groan of pain, but managed to roll herself unto her back. Looking at the unfamiliar green sky served only to fuel her fear and confusion.  
  
This was not home. She wasn’t even sure that this was Ferelden.  
  
Giant stone obelisks floated in a stormy green sky, suspended precariously in the void. Tendrils of acrid green smoke rose around her, hitting the back of her throat with painful force. The girl coughed violently but the taste lingered, surprisingly familiar despite the fact she was fairly sure that she had never encountered a place such as this before. She rolled to her side to spit the vile taste from her mouth only have the ground almost roll out beneath her. The stone ended in a sharp cliff and then nothing. An unnatural green sky billowed below her as well as above, and she scrambled back to solid ground, lest she fall into the abyss forever.  
  
No place that the girl had ever travelled to could sustain this kind of a landscape, and it was with that she realised she wasn’t in Thedas at all, not anymore. Whatever had happened to her, whatever she couldn’t remember had taken her to the beyond.  
  
She was dead.  
  
Fenansal Lavellan was nothing more than a ghost now.  
  
Shakily, Sala rose to her feet, ignoring the biting pain that didn’t seem to radiate from one spot in particular but instead, her whole being. Her vision swam and blurred at the edges at the sudden vertical change and she clutched at a rock for balance, unwilling to spend her death lying on the ground. To be perfectly truthful, apart from the blinding pain – that was in truth, already beginning to fade – death didn’t seem at all dissimilar from life. Or at least, she still believed herself to be mostly corporeal.  
  
A rattling noise behind her prompted her to spin around on her heel and almost stumble back to the cold ground, when she came face to face with three monstrously large spiders. With a gasp, she took a step back and reached for the small hunting dagger she kept on her belt for when her bow just wasn’t conducive to space. With a twinge of fear she realised that the dagger wasn’t fastened to her belt, nor was her bow strapped tight against her back. The lack of its presence was less than comforting, especially considering it meant that she was almost entirely defenceless. Unwillingly filling the role of prey, she wasn’t about to test the theory that a ghost could not be harmed. If the ebbing pain she felt was anything to go by, there was a good chance the spiders could to damage, even if she was already dead.  
  
One foot after another, Sala stepped backwards, trying to stretch the distance between her and her predators before turning and breaking into a run. Not knowing where she was going, she scrambled frantically, climbing on all fours when she reached an incline that proved to be too much to stay upright. She didn’t dare look back at the spiders behind her, but the unwavering clicking noise told her that they were closer than she deemed comfortable. With an uncharacteristic burst of speed and adrenaline, she flung herself forward. In the distance, a golden beacon of light shone above the otherwise dark landscape. Though she didn’t quite know why, she was compelled to run towards it. Surely it couldn’t be worse than the situation she had found herself in. Not once wavering her gaze, Sala strode towards the figure. As she approached, it became more and more obvious that it wasn’t a beacon of light, but a woman. She held her arm out, straining to make contact with Sala. An almost reverent calm washed over her as the woman – both familiar and a stranger to her – reached out to her, their fingers almost brushing before a blinding pain shot down her arm. Sala looked up in fear at the woman before the world fell apart around her.  
  
She fell through nothingness before landing in a heap, determined not to let unconsciousness take her again.  
  
The point of a sword entered her vision, her eyes travelling up to the hilt and finally the person wielding it.  
  
_Human._  
  
She had never been happier to see a _shem_ before in her life, for it meant the beyond had not yet claimed her.  
  
“ _S..sathan shem,_ ” she managed to gasp, “ _Sathan, ma ha…halani.”_ She looked up at the man, and though her vision was already darkening at the edges, she could see the confusion and anger in his eyes. Fearful for a moment that he would kill her himself, the man – only a boy in soldier’s clothing – hesitated, before being pushed aside by a figure much taller than himself.  
  
The colour drained from her face about as quickly as her magic left her body. She looked up at the newcomer in fear, masking that particular weakness with a snarl, her long ears lying flush against the sides of her head.  
  
Templar.  
  
She tried to move away from the man but was met by a wall – a fragmented piece of rubble – poking sharply into her back. The _shem’s_ golden eyes never once broke contact with her own as he matched her sneer with one of his own.  
  
“Apostate.” He hissed harshly, before calling back to his men. “Take her alive. I’m sure the Seeker would like to know who is responsible for all of this.”  
  
The last think she knew before finally letting the darkness taker her was his cold, golden stare.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sala makes friends with her winning personality.

Cullen looked at the mage before him with a strange sort of curiosity. At his insistence she was surrounded by guards, all with their swords trained on her unconscious form. Many would call it overcautiousness, but he would do anything to make sure the person responsible for the murders of so many, the person who _slew_ the Holy Mother was punished justly. He narrowed his eyes as his mouth formed a grimace. Of course they would send her, this tiny elven woman who just _radiated_ innocence. When his steely gaze faltered for a moment, he had to remind himself of the mage all those years ago who made him trust her, with the tears flowing down her face when she cried out to him “ _Ser, please help me! Maker, I’m so scared,”_ before she quite literally stabbed him in the back.  
  
Of course, it wasn’t a woman at all, just a demon wearing her skin.  
  
But that was beside the point.  
  
Of course there was a part of him that wanted to look upon the apostate lying limply on the ground before him with sympathy, to save the slip of a girl from the shackles that bound her, but that part of him was small and easily squashed by the knowledge of what horrible things apostates were capable of. It was easy to quickly gage the strength of warriors, their years of training clearly defined by their physique, but mages were the wild card. They looked weak and innocent and incapable of protecting themselves, at least until they shot lightning out of their palms.  
  
He gazed down at the prisoner, pain twisting her features even in her unconscious state. She looked impossibly savage with black gore matted in her silvery blonde hair and dirt smeared on her pale face, obscuring the tattoos on her cheeks that marked her as Dalish. The ill-fitting Inquisition robes that they had dressed her in made her look smaller than she probably was, but even then he knew that the top of her head would barely graze his shoulder. Elves were small, after all.  
  
_But not innocent,_ a small voice inside Cullen reminded him. He sighed, running a gloved hand through his hair as the woman sprawled on the floor cried out again. She murmured something in elven and for a moment he worried that she was finally coming around. The guards around her apparently felt the same way as they all shifted in unison, raising their swords. Cullen himself found his hand travel to the sword strapped to his hip, hovering nervously over the pommel. The curious mark on the prisoner’s hand flashed with potential energy as Cullen hardened his stance. They had taken as many precautions with the murderer of the Divine as they could, but he wasn’t so sure that swords and shackles was enough to subdue the power that the small elf apparently possessed.  
  
She had ripped a hole in the sky, after all.  
  
After a moment, the girl’s features relaxed, though even in her unconscious state, the hand that wielded the glowing green mark still closed in a fist. Even from his position Cullen could see her nails digging painfully into her palm. Whatever it was, it obviously wasn’t part of her plan. If what the taller elf had told them as he tried desperately to save the apostate’s life was true, it was killing her.  
  
_Good,_ the recently appointed Commander thought, his eyes narrowing. It was one less problem to deal with if she succumbed to her own dark magic. It was rather a fitting death if you asked him.  
  
Confident that the prisoner was in no condition to murder everyone in a five mile radius, Cullen’s hand relaxed, falling to his side.  
  
“Inform Seeker Pentaghast when the prisoner wakes.” _If she wakes,_ Cullen wanted to add as he spoke to the guard closest to him. Former Templars like himself, he trusted the five of them to be able to subdue the slip of a girl should she decide to continue in her search for a rising body count. The guard nodded confidently, though his gaze never left the prisoner.  
  
_Good lad._ Cullen thought as he turned to exit the room. If men like him willingly joined the Inquisition, maybe they did have a chance of stopping whatever this girl had unleashed on the world.  
  
\---  
  
When Sala was ten, she was convinced that she was the best climber in the clan. No matter how few branches a tree had, or how stripped the bark was on its trunk, she could climb it until the thinning length could no longer support her slight weight.  
  
It was in the summer that Clan Lavellan had traveled from the thick forests of the southern Free Marches to up along the Tevinter border. It was hot, the children wearing nothing more than cotton shifts, playing barefoot under the sun. The trees were thinner there, but Sala needed to be up high. The bough of the tallest tree in the forest had always been a comforting place for her, where it was quiet and no one could find her.  
  
They called her _adahl’len_ when she scaled the tall trees as easily as if she had been running on the flat ground, bare toes gripping to knots on the trunk as her small, powerful arms lifted her the rest of her body higher.  
  
The laughter of children below slowly faded as the branches grew thinner. The trees were brittle there, dried out by the hot northern sun. If she had been back in the familiar forest that Lavellan had called home for the past three summers, Sala would have been easily supported by the thinning branches. As the branch below her feet snapped and she began her decent to the ground below, Sala found herself wishing that she was back in the familiar forest.  
  
But wishing did nothing as she fell to the ground, shattering her arm and cleaving her collarbone in two. It was the most pain she had experienced in her life up until now, as the green mark on palm flashed and she screamed, trying to smother the pain by clutching her arm fiercely to her chest.  
  
Now well and truly conscious, Sala tried to focus on her surroundings, the heavy shackles on her wrists tight, cutting painfully into her skin. She was dimly aware of the blood dripping down her forearm as she jerked her wrists, trying to free herself from whatever captivity she found herself in.  
  
A green flash drew her attention to her palm, as she unfurled fingers she didn’t realise she had been clasping. Alongside the four crescent shaped marks that her nails had left was a painful green mark that cast an unsettling green glow. What had the _shem_ done to her?  
  
A heavy wooden door slammed open and Sala flinched in fear. Climbing to her knees, she tried to scramble away but was met with the point of a sword cutting painfully into her shoulder. Whipping her head around in response to the rather familiar situation, she was met with the hard gaze of a soldier, a _Templar._  
  
Just as she came to the realisation, she felt the violating push of her magic leaving her body, replaced by the suffocating tingle of the Templar’s lyrium. Try as she might, she was unable to summon even the smallest amount of mana. Though if she was to be perfectly honest, she didn’t think she was in a state to cast anything, Templars or not.  
  
The guards sheathed their weapons as two figures entered the room. Narrowing her eyes in suspicion to conceal the fear that filled her, Sala tried to see what had illicit such a response from her captors. While the room was dark, she could see that it was two _shem_ women, though one had her hair trimmed short like a man. The other was covered head to toe, an unfamiliar symbol emblazoned on her chest. The first _shem_ closed the gap in three angry strides as Sala tried to scramble to her feet. The woman pushed her back to the ground angrily, grabbing a fistful of her robes.  
  
“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now.” The woman hissed, immobilising Sala with a powerful arm as she tried to struggle out of her grip.  
  
“ _Tel deras em!”_ She seethed back as the dark haired woman released her from her grip. Sala’s shoulders curled defensively but the human took no notice, continuing in her threats.  
  
“The conclave is destroyed, everyone who attended is dead except for you.” The woman was no longer looking at Sala, instead pacing around her with a darkness in her eyes. The elf’s eyes shot up at her captor, genuine confusion twisting her features. She had no recollection of what had happened to her. She remembered her Keeper instructing her to make the trek south, she remembered spying on the _shem_ from high up in the rafters, but then nothing.  
  
“ _Tel’dithan shem._ ” Sala gritted her teeth in an attempt not to yell at the woman outright. She opened her mouth to speak, but the red-haired one interrupted her.  
  
“We know you can speak Common,” she said stiffly, but without a hint of malice in her voice as she stepped forward into the light of one of the torches on the wall. “You spoke it when you were unconscious. I doubt you remember; I think you were dreaming.”  
  
“Well then, let me put it into words you will understand,” Sala glared daggers at the other woman, not once faltering her gaze. To do otherwise would show them that she was weak, and Fenansal Lavellan was anything but weak. “I. Don’t. Speak. To. Shem.” With every bit of condescension she could muster, she stressed every word in her heavy Dalish accent. The older dark-haired woman made a noise of disgust and grabbed at her wrist, the mark on her palm sparking painfully. Biting the inside of her cheek as not to give her captors the satisfaction of hearing her cry out, she tasted blood.  
  
“Explain this!” Ignoring her previous protest of speaking Common, Sala felt a flash of anger alongside the flash on her hand.  
  
“What is there to explain?” She cried angrily, rising up to her knees. “You did this to me!”  
  
“Do not tell lies! You attacked the conclave, you murdered Most Holy!” She narrowed her eyes and lowered her voice as she grabbed the front of Sala’s robes, roughly pulling her closer. “Hundreds are dead because of you, do not pretend to be so ignorant.” With her ears flat against her skull and lips pulled back into a snarl, Sala spat at the woman, saliva and blood landing messily on her cheek. She pulled back in disgust, throwing the prisoner roughly to the ground before wiping her face with the back of her hand.  
  
“I told you not to touch me!” Eyes narrowed and venom in her voice, Sala wiped the corner of her mouth with great difficulty thanks to the shackles that bound her wrists. Lowering her voice to a dangerous hiss, she continued. “What should I care about your Most Holy? She means nothing to me. Whatever it is you think I’ve done, I am innocent. Not that it’s stopped you _shemlen_ before.” The dark haired woman made to lunge at Sala again, but was stopped once again by the other woman.  
  
“Cassandra, we need her.” She firmly reminded as the other woman sighed.  
  
“Fine. Go on ahead, Leliana, I will take her to the rift.” With that, the redhead – Leliana – gave a single nod and left the room. It was an act that made Sala nervous. She was obviously the more reasonable of the two and with her gone, she hesitated to think what Cassandra would do to her. The human bent down to her and Sala flinched, confused when all she did was unlock her shackles. She pulled her roughly to her feet and led her out of the dungeon.  
  
“What _did_ happen?” Sala asked finally after a brief pause. Cassandra sighed, the anger that she had felt before slowly dissipating.  
  
“It will be easier to show you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god Sala, that is the absolute OPPOSITE way you make friends WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU
> 
> Elvhen translations:  
> Adahl'len - Child of the tree  
> Tel deras em! - Don't touch me!  
> Tel’dithan shem - I don't speak to shem
> 
> Again, this is my very shitty interpretation of FenxShiral's Project Elvhen, which is absolutely amazing!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sala wins over her peers with racial slurs and fixes some holes.

The walk to the pass was tense to say the least, due in no small part to Sala’s rather poor behaviour concerning the humans. The seeker that she has spat on - the one the other woman addressed as Cassandra - grabbed Sala roughly by the arm and brought her to her feet. While she was no longer bound in shackles, her freedom was short-lived as her wrists were bound tightly with a length of rope. The action stung and Sala bit her lip to keep from crying out – she wouldn’t give the shem the satisfaction - as the shackles had already rubbed her wrists raw. No doubt the seeker was aware of her injuries, but Sala supposed the humans cared little for a prisoner; the fact that she had been falsely accused meant nothing to them.

Cassandra prattled on about things that Sala had little interest in, as the elf looked uneasily towards the sky. The unearthly column rose high into the air, sickly green tendrils colouring the stormy sky. Untethered by any means of support, stone obelisks hung freely; their resemblance to the beyond from which Sala had just escaped from made her stomach turn. She squeezed her eyes tight and swallowed, desperately hoping that the nausea would pass, but every time she closed her eyes she was back in that horrible place, something that didn’t exactly make her feel any better.

Just as the nausea began to pass, the sky erupted with a flash and the strange mark on her hand followed suit. Despite her aggressive determination not to appear weak in front of the shemlen, Sala was unable to supress a scream as blinding pain flashed up her arm, bringing her to her knees.

Cassandra knelt before the younger elf with a sigh. “Each time the breach expands, your mark spreads, and it is killing you.” She informed her, with a surprising lack of distain in her voice. It was almost as if she pitied her. “It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.” She finished rather ominously as Sala sneered in response.

“So you’re telling me I don’t have a choice,” She inferred, raising herself on shaky legs as her vision swam “Help you, or let this kill me.” If being perfectly honest, the thought of bringing all of them with her if she perished was an attractive idea, but her mind wandered back to her clan, her family. Surely her actions would condemn even them. 

When finally upright she strode forward, not waiting for the seeker to lead her. While the thought that the humans had intentionally given her this death sentence – the glowing green mark seemed to unnerve even Cassandra – it didn’t mean she had to accept it in any capacity.

“While I wouldn’t put it as… dramatically as that, I believe you are correct.” Cassandra replied, her long strides catching up to Sala without any effort whatsoever. “Despite what you may think, this helps all of us.”

Sala gave a bitter laugh, turning to face the human. “Silas ar delavir, shem? Eolasan ir’nuun harthan.” 

“I might not speak elvish, but I know what shem means, elf.” Cassandra replied with an apathetic roll of her eyes. Sala narrowed her own eyes as she opened her mouth to speak. When nothing came, she quickly snapped it shut, trying to ignore the smug look the seeker gave her. Turning her back, she finally responded with a childish huff. 

“Good. Then you’ll know I’m referring to you when you hear it next.” Creators, she felt like a child acting like this, but Sala was not against petty blows when it came to defending her pride. By the looks of Cassandra, the seeker felt the same way.

Fantastic.

“Sie sund bist nicht besonderes, schräg-Ohr.” Cassandra spat back, pulling Sala roughly by the arm. “Just because you speak a language that I do not does not make you superior. My name is Cassandra, and I expect that you use it.”

“Why would I do that when shem sounds so much better?” Though intrigued by the mystery language Cassandra had addressed her in, Sala crushed her rather adamant curiosity in favour of a cool, apathetic mask.

“Slant-ear has the same ring to it, don’t you think?” At the mention of the slur, Cassandra felt the girl stiffen, though she made no effort to defend herself. After it became clear that the elf wasn’t going to speak, Cassandra continued. “Unless you have a name that you would prefer I call you?”

Sala huffed, unwilling to look the seeker in the eye. Her name was her identity, how dare the shem presume she could have the privilege of knowing her? 

“Call me what you want, shem, juaman ara melin.”

With each woman refusing to back down to the other, the walk towards the valley was dripping with tension. It subsided somewhat when Cassandra decided the pathetic mess of a girl in her custody presented no threat, cutting Sala’s bindings. Though confused, the elf made no snide remarks. She even went so far as to mutter a quiet ma serannas as she rubbed her raw wrists, the meaning of the elven Cassandra was able to imply. She was careful not to let the prisoner see the flash of amusement in her eyes.

Perhaps the passage through the valley would not be as painful as she had initially thought. 

\---

The tentative truce between the two was short-lived however, when the pair were ambushed by demons en route to their destination. The bridge that the two had walked upon crumbled beneath their feet as the pair fell towards the frozen lake below. Landing awkwardly on the rubble, Sala gasped in pain as she heard a rib snap beneath her. With her mind still focused on the constant ache of the green mark on her hand, the pain of the break was lessened, though fighting pain with more pain was not an affective form of relief. She eventually made it to her feet in time to see a flash of green on the ice below her feet and a creature rise seemingly from nothingness.

It would have been fine if Sala had abided by Cassandra’s commands of “Stay behind me!” and the implied “Don’t do anything stupid, or I will kill you where you stand,” but Sala had never been one to follow simple instructions when it didn’t already suit her.

So as Cassandra attempted to protect them both from the otherworldly beings, Sala decided to do something stupid. In all fairness, she would have let the seeker do all the heavy lifting - so to speak – if she had not been cornered by one of the demons, forcing her hand. Running out of options to keep herself alive for the time being, she repurposed a longbow from a fallen soldier, ignoring her glassy, lifeless stare as she ripped the quiver from her back. It wasn’t like the dead would mind their belongings handed down to those still living (no matter how short a time Sala was going to stay that way).

The demon was too close for Sala to use the bow for its intended purpose, so she instead decided to sling it over her back. The arrows however, were sufficient enough on their own, as she armed herself with one in each hand, running towards her attacker with ferocious speed. With a leap, she dove each arrow into each of the creature’s temples (or at least where she imagined its temples to be) that landed with a sickening squelch. Though she was not exactly well-versed in demon anatomy, the general rule of “Stick them in the head where everything that’s important is kept” seemed to do the job. 

The demon gave a hiss as it fell forward, spraying her with black gore as the life drained from its corpse. Cassandra had yet to notice that Sala had directly disobeyed her, as she was still struggling with her own demon. Removing the bow from her back, Sala drew back a gore-covered arrow and let it loose past Cassandra’s head, burying itself squarely between the demon’s eyes.

Rather than act grateful for saving her life, Cassandra spun around with fury in her eyes, brandishing her longsword towards Sala.

“Drop your weapon!” She ordered, advancing on the younger woman. Baring her teeth in response, Sala’s long ears flattened against her head as she drew another arrow back on the bow, aiming for Cassandra’s chest.

“Do you really think I need a weapon to be dangerous?” She challenged, unwilling to back down. 

“Is that supposed to reassure me?” Cassandra countered with an equally intimidating snarl.

“If I wanted to kill you, I would have got it over and done with already.” Taking a moment to process this, the seeker sighed and sheathed her blade. Letting the bow slacken, Sala did the same, returning the bow to its hook on her back, though her ears remained flattened against her skull; still clearly defensive against the human.

“I suppose you are right,” Cassandra admitted, turning away from the elf and walking back towards the path. “Keep the bow if you must, it is foolish to think that I can protect you.” Though bewildered by the seeker’s actions, Sala took tentative steps to follow, shifting her weight awkwardly to accommodate her newly broken rib. In the scheme of things it was little more than an inconvenience, though a fucking painful one if that. Cassandra turned to hand her something, though upon seeing it was a potion, she refused.

“You keep it; I have little need for it.” She requested rather brusquely, holding up a hand that began to glow a pleasant blue – a much welcomed change from the green that she had been used to – that she held over her side. While the spell wouldn’t completely mend the bone, it would at least give her some relief from the dull, throbbing pain. Perhaps when she was in any position to make camp she would apply an elfroot poultice, though for now, the spell would suffice. Cassandra looked on in bewilderment though thankfully not horror. As First of her clan, Sala was free to practice magic, though even she knew that she had to be wary this far from home, where mamae could not protect her.

“I… They told me you were a mage, though I had trouble believing it.” Sala’s eyes narrowed, waiting for a sword in her face, or for her to pull her mana from her body like the Templars did, but the moment never came. “Why use a bow, when you are clearly proficient with magic?”

The human was curious, was that all it was? Confused by anything that wasn’t outward hostility, Sala paused for a moment, opening her mouth to speak before promptly closing it again. 

“I… I’m used to a bow, I suppose.” She said with a shrug as she moved past Cassandra to lead, despite not actually knowing where they were supposed to be going. The sound of fighting could be heard faintly in the distance and she supposed that was a good a destination as any. “Besides, you shem with your staves confuse me. My keeper uses one for ceremony, nothing more. It seems odd that you would need a stick to channel your magic through.” Cassandra gave a bemused laugh, following the elf. Of course she would turn any statement in a thinly veiled insult towards humans.

“As I am not a mage, I cannot answer that for you.” She replied, her long strides once again overtaking Sala. “Though I suppose you can ask Solas when we meet with him.”

“Solas?” Sala exclaimed incredulously, the ghost of a confused smile crossing her face as the pair approached their destination. “What does pride have to do with anything?

“I don’t understand what you mean.” The older woman stated, though her attention was drawn along with her sword, to the fighting in front of them “That is Solas,” She said, gesturing to a tall, bald elf fighting against three of the demons they had already encountered. “Live through this and perhaps you can ask him yourself. You have a weapon, use it!” 

And with that, Cassandra yelled a rather alarming war cry, charging towards the action with her longsword brandished. Not sharing the apparent death wish the seeker had, Sala perched herself behind a crumbled section of wall, staying out of sight as she picked off demons one by one until their combined efforts cleared the area; for now, at least. Her eyes locked with the prideful one’s as he charged towards her with an alarming sense of determination, grabbing her by the wrist and dragging her towards the breach.

“Quickly, before more come through!” He bellowed, thrusting Sala’s hand towards the glowing light suspended in mid-air. The light flashed as the mark on her palm made contact, sending a jolt of pain screaming down her arm. With a gasp she pulled away, looking at the tall elf with guarded eyes as she cradled her palm to her chest.

“Unvanas?” She questioned, looking up to the space where the breach had once been, the pain in her hand subsiding to its usual ache. 

“I did nothing, the credit is yours.” He replied rather matter-of-factly in common tongue, gesturing to the glowing mark on Sala’s hand. She followed his gaze, holding her palm up in front of her face in disbelief. 

“I… I don’t understand how.”  
“Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand.” He explained, reaching for your hand and turning it over in his own. Sala flinched slightly at the strange display, but said nothing. “I theorised the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake, and it seems I was correct.” As he mused, Cassandra approached from behind.

“Meaning it could also close the breach itself.” Well at least that explained why she was being dragged around the Frostbacks against her will, and now that theories had finally been put in practice, Sala doubted she would be returning to her clan anytime soon. Solas shrugged at the seeker’s suggestion.

“Possibly.” He answered rather hopefully. Releasing Sala’s hand, he addressed her directly. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.” Sala scoffed in response, crossing her arms over her chest. The scepticism was clearly written across her face, but the younger elf said nothing.

“Good to know!” A gruff voice from behind Sala exclaimed, making her spin around to face a man that she hadn’t noticed before. He was short – shorter than Sala herself, which was no small feat – and sturdily built, shirt open to expose his chest. His whole appearance bewildered Sala, as she tried to consolidate what appeared to be a very small and disproportionate shem standing in front of her. “I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.” As he moved towards Sala she took a step backwards, feeling increasingly uncomfortable being surrounded by strange people, shem and elves alike.

“Varric Tethras,” he introduced himself, though he stopped short of standing directly in front of the young elf, noticing her obvious discomfort. _Poor kid_ , he thought to himself with an internal sigh, _scared out of her fucking mind_. “Rogue, storyteller, and occasional unwelcome tagalong.” He shot a wink at Cassandra, who rolled her eyes in disgust.

“You are… very short.” Sala eventually said in response, making Varric chuckle under his breath.

“Well, yeah. Haven’t you ever met a Dwarf before?” He smiled incredulously, though not offended by her statement. “You’re not very tall yourself, kid.” Sala, on the other hand, huffed at his response.

“I’m not a child, Durgen’len.” She stated, consolidating his title with the stories of the stone children her mother told her when she _was_ a child, the ones that lived underground for fear they would float up into the sky. Sala could think of nothing worse, the thought of being underground entirely suffocating.

“Okay kid, easy on the elven,” He laughed, holding his hands up in surrender. “You better give me something to call you, or else Kid’s the only thing you’ll get from me.” Sala thought about this for a moment. She had been reluctant to tell Cassandra her name, but Varric didn’t quite unsettle her like the seeker did. After a short silence, she relented.

“Fenansal.” She mumbled, arms dropping to her sides. “My name is Fenansal.” A thoughtful hum came from behind her as Solas spoke.

“Wolf’s Blessing?” He asked, his soft voice betraying his curiosity. “A curious name. And here I thought your people did not worship the Dread Wolf.”

“My people?” She questioned. “Do you not consider yourself elvhen, seth’lin?” unfazed by the slur, Solas gave a small smile.

“Elvhen, yes. Though I would not consider myself Dalish.” Sala shrugged, brushing off the statement.

“Anyway, I’m not named for Fen’harel, though it is a longer story than I’d care to divulge.”

“Well now, long stories are kind of my specialty, cub.” Varric chimed in from behind Sala who couldn’t help but let a small smile pass over her face.

“Wolves don’t have cubs, they have pups.” She said, shaking her head at the dwarf. He grinned.

“That they do, Pup, that they do.”

\---

Being more social than she had in the past three months, Sala exchanged awkward pleasantries with the three strangers – at least however pleasant she could be – before heading further towards the makeshift camp the humans had assembled. Varric broke the silence by prattling on with his stories and while Sala wouldn’t admit it, she quite enjoyed his company. The dwarf had been amused by Sala’s little understanding of the race and was happy to fill in the ample gaps in her knowledge with stories of Orzammar, though admittedly he had spent most of his days on the surface. 

Her objectively good mood had been ruined by an encounter with the Chancellor, a wholly unpleasant shem that did not even have the decency to mask his outright hatred and distaste of Sala, though they were thankfully rid of the man not long after they had met, continuing in their quest up the mountain towards the breach. She had no interest in a rescue mission through the mountain, considering she might not be alive long enough to complete her task, choosing to instead charge directly there.

She was surprised when nobody objected to her suggestion, following her direction into the valley. Sala felt entirely uncomfortable leading these people that still looked on her with contempt, but it couldn’t be helped. She would be rid of them once the breach was closed; she just had to hang on until then.

Using her newly-claimed bow to dispatch demons from afar felt familiar, but there was a painful pang in her gut knowing it wasn’t with the bow Revas had made for her all those years ago. It had been lost somewhere between the Conclave exploding and here and though she had to remind herself it was nothing but a carved piece of wood, the loss still hurt, almost like losing him all over again. 

With a sigh, she continued to do her duty. Varric stuck to her side as Cassandra charged ahead, all while Solas provided support. It was strange being around his aura – the only other she had really come across before now was the Keeper’s – though she willed herself to get used to it. His protection spells would be for nothing if she kept instinctively trying to push his mana out of her body.

Before long, the battle was over and the rift was sealed, though Sala still winced at the unfamiliar jolt of pain that came from using her mark. Solas approached, a knowing smile on face.

“You are becoming quite proficient at this.” He remarked, looking up to the space where the rift had once been. Despite herself, she gave a small smile in response to the praise, though it was short-lived.

A familiar voice addressed Cassandra and Sala whipped her head around to the newcomer, what little colour in her face draining as her smile faltered. 

“Templar.” She hissed under her breath, taking a cautious step back. Varric raised an eyebrow but said nothing as he watched the scene unfold.

“Lady Cassandra, you managed to close the rift.” The Templar congratulated. “Well done.”

Cassandra managed an audible sigh, turning towards Sala. The last thing she wanted was his attention drawn to her, but she could do nothing to stop it.

“Do not congratulate me, Commander. This is the prisoner’s doing.” The man’s eyes narrowed as he turned his attention to Sala and she froze, her ears almost completely flush to her head.

“You.” He sneered, before turning back to Cassandra, though never taking his eyes off the elf. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing, seeker? I wouldn’t trust the mage as far as I could throw her.” Cassandra crossed her arms, her eyes flicking towards Sala. The elf was beginning to find that being the centre of attention was exactly the opposite position from where she wanted to be. Still, she said nothing.

“She has given me no reason to distrust her,” Cassandra admitted with a nonchalant shrug. “Besides, if she wanted to kill me, she would have got it over and done with already.” As the woman used Sala’s own words in support of her, she gave a tiny smile. If there was one thing she did not expect happening today, it was that a shem would be defending her honour.

(And perhaps that she liked it.)

At Cassandra’s response, the Templar with the golden eyes gave a grunt.

“I hope you’re right. We’ve lost a lot of people getting her this far.” He sighed and moved towards her. “The way to the temple should be clear. Leliana will try to meet you there.”

And with that, he was gone along with his men, and Sala let out a breath that she didn’t realise she was holding. Varric looked up at her in concern.

“Care to share what that was all about?” He asked gently. Sala shook her head, already moving towards the temple.

“Not particularly. Come on, we need to keep moving.”

The journey from there was more or less silent, especially as they approached the temple itself. Boots crunched against gravel and Creator knows what else as the crackling of fires not yet extinguished reverberated off the stone walls still intact. Sala looked over at the shrivelled husks of bodies littered around the temple, trying hard to disguise her horror. But then the smell hit her nose, that sickly sweet smell of burning flesh, and she couldn’t help but gasp and splutter.

_Oh Creators, run before they can hurt you, smoke stinging, hitting the back of your throat, feet burned and blistered but it doesn’t matter you have to keep running or they’ll find you and they’ll kill you too, all your fault, this is all because of you._

She fell to her knees, bringing up bile onto the rubble with desperate gasps as her legs shook. Someone – she wasn’t sure who – tried to place a comforting hand on her arm, but she wrenched violently out of their grip, scrambling against one of the stone walls. For once she was thankful for the bitter Ferelden cold against her burning cheeks.

“I’m fine,” she managed to gasp as she hauled herself to her feet, wiping her mouth with the back of her sleeve. Her mouth still tasted like bile, though she was confident that she wasn’t going to throw up again. Usually she was proficient with dealing with the memories, but the smell had taken her by surprise. 

“Are you sure, Pup?” Varric asked. “You don’t look so flash.”

“I’m fine.” She repeated a little too forcefully as she motioned for the others to follow her past the carnage. Varric looked at Cassandra, but neither sad anything about what had just happened, deciding to follow the two elves deeper into the temple. As they rounded the corner, the sickly green mark in the sky came into view, looking even more alarming up close. Before too long, Leliana and her men arrived and took up position at Cassandra’s command.

“This is your chance to end it, are you ready?” Cassandra asked, approaching Sala. The elf nodded her head vigorously.

“Let’s get this over with, shall we?” 

“This rift was the first, and it is key.” Solas added in what Sala believed was supposed to be a motivating comment, but the gravity of the situation just made her feel worse. Unwilling to let the fear take over, she took Cassandra’s lead and leapt over the railing down to the base of the Breach, feeling smaller and smaller the closer she got to it. Her mark vibrated on her palm, and while it didn’t hurt any more than usual, the potential energy concerned her. What she was faced with didn’t make her feel any better. 

Ghostly voices flooded the decimated temple, and she was horrified to discover that one of them was hers.

“I don’t remember this.” She said warily. “Teleolasan.” She looked to Solas with confusion as the voices were joined by ghostly figures, one of them clearly Fenansal.

“i've'an relin sule venural’an.” He theorised, looking up at the fade with curiosity. “It is an echo of what happened here.”

“So this did happen.” Sala breathed, walking up to the memory of herself, still wearing her clan robes. The fact that the scene was not familiar in the slightest made her feel uneasy.

“Indeed.” He concurred. “Are you ready to do what you came here for? We will likely attract attention from the other side, but it is the only way to close it safely.” Though not entirely positive in her response, Sala nodded her head slowly.

“Into position!” Cassandra commanded and the young elf dutifully took her place in front of the rift, everyone safely behind her. She couldn’t truthfully say that she was confident in the plan, but considering she was going to die either way, it wasn’t like she had much of a choice. Tentatively raising her hand towards the rift, her mark pulled as the connection was made. Although it felt like it was pulling directly on her nerves and tendons, she gritted her teeth and focused her energy into opening it, an act that felt counter-productive after being tasked with _closing_ them. 

With a deafening crack, the rift ripped open, depositing the largest demon she had ever seen onto the temple ground. The once silent scene burst into a flurry of activity as the troops bombarded the creature with attacks. Sala unhooked her bow from her back to unleash a barrage of arrows onto the beast, but they bounced off its tough hide as if they were twigs. The only thing it served to do was get its attention, as the demon turned to face her, trudging towards her. 

_Shit_ , she thought as it closed in on her, realising her one plan was useless. With a furious yell she flung the bow to the ground, freeing up her hands to crackle and spark as she gathered together as much mana as she could muster. The demon raised its massive arm to strike, but before it could follow through, Sala unleashed her spell.

A violent inferno engulfed the beast as it gave an ear-splitting scream, falling to its knees. Cassandra’s troops charged towards the weakened monster, chipping down its defences as Sala kept it in place with her enormous fiery storm. Convinced it was sufficiently incapacitated she stopped, breathing heavily. 

“Now! Seal the rift!” Cassandra roared from beside her, and Sala was in no position to defy the order. Once again she raised her palm, felling for the connection to the beyond. Once tethered by the strip of green light, she focused all her energy into it. Her already depleted mana screamed in defence, but she persevered, grunting through the pain. Sala’s vision darkened from the edges until all she could see was a pinprick of green light, and then nothing.

It was finally over.

With that, she let the comforting darkness envelop her as if embracing an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! (almost five months later but we're just gonna pretend that didn't happen shhhhh) This one's kind of a long one, but I decided against splitting it up into two parts, so if that's your thing and you'd like to thank me for getting your rocks off: you're welcome. 
> 
> Here we're seeing Sala being not so much of an asshole and we've got some ~*~angsty mystery past~*~ which should be a tonne of fun. I'm using German as a language analogue for Cassandra's native Navarran, which is probably not right at all but I'm executive decisioning the shit out of this so there. (I also am 0% fluent in German so I apologise in advance for my terrible google translating)
> 
> Tune in for the next update (is it next week? Next month? Next year? WHO KNOWS? IT'S A MYSTERY) and thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Elvhen
> 
> Silas ar delavir, shem? Eolasan ir’nuun harthan – Do you think I’m stupid, human? I know a threat when I hear one.  
> juaman ara melin – I will keep my name.  
> Ma serannas – Thank you  
> Mamae – Mother  
> Unvanas? – What did you do?  
> Durgen’len – Stone child (elven word for Dwarf)  
> Fenansal – Wolf’s blessing  
> Elvhen – Our People (elven word for their own race)  
> Seth’lin - Thin blood (Dalish slur for city elves)  
> Teleolasan – I don’t understand  
> i've'an relin sule venural’an – The fade bleeds into this place of god.
> 
> Navarran
> 
> Sie sind bist nicht besonderes, schräg-Ohr – You’re not special, slant-ear.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prison breaaaaaak. This is the point in the story where we start to move away from the game novelization type of story, and branch more into some down and dirty original shit. We're still following canon, but it will hopefully be a little more inspired writing, rather than just following along with the game dialogue. As always, I really appreciate feedback, even if you just want to have a bit of a chat. I LOVE chats.

Rather than gracefully meeting consciousness with fluttering eyelids and gentle moans, Sala awoke with a violent gasp, large green eyes darting around unfamiliar surroundings as she scrambled to her feet, pressing her back against the corner of the room. She swayed, almost meeting the ground as starbursts clouded her vision from standing up too fast. Deciding that she wasn’t going to make a habit of losing consciousness, she carefully transferred herself to sit on the edge of the bed.  
  
For a moment of terrified confusion, Sala wracked her brain trying to remember how she had got here, before the events of yesterday came flooding back to her.  
  
The shemlen, the scar in the sky, the mark on her palm--  
  
She looked down and unfurled a shaking fist that she didn’t realise she had been clenching and sure enough, the unsettling green mark still glowed, still making her stomach churn. Considering she hadn’t eaten in at least a day and she didn’t care for throwing up bile all over the wooden floor, Sala took a few deep, calming breaths to settle her nervous stomach.  
  
So it all wasn’t a bad dream afterwards.   
  
With a disappointed sigh, she glanced at her surroundings, trying to familiarise herself with a very unfamiliar situation. It was a room built for humans, if the high ceiling and large furniture had anything to say about it. Despite the large lodgings, Sala was beginning to feel more and more claustrophobic. Voices from outside filled the room, with their harsh Ferelden accents, laughing and shouting and making Sala feel even smaller than she was. She had done it, she had supposedly sealed the rift in the sky, so why didn’t they leave her be? Surely they had little use for a knife-ear now that she had served her purpose.  
  
Surely now she could go home.  
  
Another sigh left her lips as she went to run a hand through her long blonde hair, only to find that it had been neatly tied in a long braid that ran down her back. She took the braid into her hands - no longer matted with blood – clean and smelling faintly of flowers. Flashes of shemlen hands touching her, undressing her, wiping her skin down with damp cloths.  
  
With this information, it was a struggle to keep the meagre contents of her stomach at bay. The thought of any shem touching her made her sick. Truth be told, she would prefer to still be bathed in the gore of unfamiliar battle than to be clean at their hands.   
  
Sala stood slowly and made her way to the other side of the room, where a small mirror rested on a table. A vaguely familiar face stared back at her, green eyes set on freckled pale skin, the branches of Mythal etched in charcoal ink on her cheekbones. Though Sala knew this woman, it had been a long time since she’d seen her without dirt and blood on her face and without her eyes rimmed with deep black circles. This was the Fenansal Lavellan of months passed, the one who had yet to be separated from her family, the one who had yet to take a life other than those for the hunt, the one without the ugly green mark tugging at her tether to the Beyond.  
  
Sala gave her double a small smile as she reached to touch her own face, fingers ghosting over her vallaslin. Despite everything, it was comforting to know that Mythal was still her because she knew that where she could find the Mother, she could find home.  
  
With a bang, the door flung open and Sala jumped, spinning to face the intrusion. At the doorway, a young elf with an expression on her face that suggested she was as terrified as Sala was.  
  
“Oh!” The girl squeaked, dropping the box she had been holding as her hands clapped over her mouth. “I didn’t know you were awake, I swear!”  
  
Sala looked at the bare-faced uren'daorsha with odd curiosity. The girl was afraid of her, but for what reason? Had she really never seen a Dalish before? When Sala did not answer, the girl fell to her hands and knees in a deep bow.  
  
“I beg your forgiveness and your blessing! I am but a humble servant.”  
  
“I don’t-“ but before Sala had time to answer, the girl continued, not once lifting herself from the stone floor.  
  
“They say you saved us. The breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand.” Sala looked down and unfurled her fingers. It wasn’t until that moment that she noticed that the mark was no longer causing her any pain, save for a dull ache and an uncomfortable hum. It was certainly better than it had been before. “It’s all anyone has talked about for the last three days.” At the girl’s words, Sala’s already large eyes widened.  
  
“I’ve been here for three days!?” She exclaimed, making the girl jump.  
  
“Oh Maker, I’ve said the wrong thing, haven’t I?” The girl scrambled to her feet hastily, but before Sala could answer, she was already backing towards the door.  
  
“Lady Cassandra wishes to see you now that you’ve awaken; she’s at the Chantry, my lady!” The uren'daorsha stumbled over her words like she did her feet as she opened the door, all without looking at Sala “I...I’m sorry for disturbing you, my lady!”   
  
And with that, Sala was once again left alone, standing in the middle of the room, feeling smaller than usual. So the shemlen weren’t finished with her. No matter how nice her lodgings here were, she was no better than the chained savage she had been three days ago. She would never see her family.  
  
_No,_ she decided, scanning the room for her possessions, _I will not allow myself to be their prisoner._ Coming up empty save for a small hunting knife, she cursed under her breath. No bow, no supplies, nothing to make camp with. She sheathed the knife in her boot with a sigh. It would have to do; she could spend no more time amongst these shemlen, she would have to make do with the skills her mother had instilled in her. With the knife she could carve herself a bow and craft arrows. She was no follower of June and could craft nothing more than the simplest of weapons, Sala was confident she would be about to keep herself alive during the long journey back to her clan. Once she had a means for hunting, she wouldn’t go hungry, not even in this frozen landscape. The furs she could use for warmth, or even hazard selling to any shemlen she came across. She couldn’t be called the best craftsman in the clan, nor the best hunter, but if the skills her mother had taught her weren’t enough for survival, then Sala had no business calling herself First of Clan Lavellan.  
  
In one swift movement, Sala strode to the heavy wooden door and flung it open, planning to make a clean run for it before anyone could comprehend what was going on. One thing she hadn’t bet on was every bloody shem in the village standing outside her door, hands over their hearts and their heads bowed in reverence.   
  
Stunned by the display, Sala paused in her tracks. Her plan of making a clean exit, slipping away as if she were little more than a ghost fell apart in front of her. Mouth opening and closing like a dying fish, she scanned over the faces and came across the only one brave enough to be looking back at her.  
  
She locked eyes on Varric who looked on at her with pity, pausing only for a moment before doing the only thing that she thought to be sensible in that situation.  
  
Giving him one last pleading look, she ran.  
  
Pushing herself past stunned shemlen turned out to be an easier affair than she was expecting. Not even the ones that clad themselves in heavy armour made an attempt to stop her, to drag her back to the well-furnished prison kicking and screaming. Sala shot past them like an arrow loose from a bow, making no effort to stop for a moment to orient herself around unfamiliar territory.  
  
_If you stop, you are as good as dead,_ she thought to herself, even though all her instincts screamed at her to get to higher ground to survey the area. Instead, with an amount of force surprising for one her size, she pushed open the door separating the village from the rest of the frozen wasteland, not pausing to see the Templar from before open his mouth in surprise. But before she could see his reaction, she turned and shot into the trees. While too sparse to be considered a forest, the trees gave her ample cover as she darted between them. Sala sprinted forward with little reverence to which direction she was actually travelling, confident that, while not stronger than the shemlen, she was at least faster.  
  
The more distance she put between her and the village the better; she could work out the rest later.  
  
\---  
  
“Well shit.” Varric stated as he watched the kid shoot out of her cabin as fast as she’d shot out of the rift. Not that he had actually been present for her unceremonious expulsion from the fade, but he assumed it was as flashy as he imagined it. With a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair, debating on whether or not he should follow her. It was clear she had no intention of sticking around and he wasn’t one to make anyone do anything they wanted to do, but the Pup had just flung herself out of Haven as if her life depended on it, all without wearing shoes. If he couldn’t bring her back, he could at least see what all _that_ was about.  
  
After all, he was nothing if not a lover of a good story.  
  
With Bianca across his back and a cloth-wrapped package in one arm, Varric followed after the kid at a brisk jog. He knew he wouldn’t be able to catch her at this speed, but he was counting on her to stop once she was a comfortable distance away from town. It’s what he would do and hell, he didn’t even think the humans were half bad. He couldn’t imagine what Pup was going through, forced into such close proximity with a race that obviously hadn’t shown her much in the way of kindness. Varric couldn’t blame her for being on edge, but he still wanted to make sure she was okay before she disappeared into the forest forever.  
  
Passing a very confused ex-Knight Captain at the gates who looked as if he’d just seen Andraste herself shit in the woods, Varric raised a hand.  
  
“Don’t worry Curly, I’ve got it.” he dismissed him without stopping for a conversation. “If anyone’s gonna bring her back, it’s sure as shit not gonna be you.” His lip curled into a smirk at the sight of Cullen’s scowl, but at least it got him to take his damn hand off his sword. No wonder Pup was on edge, all these strange people with sticks up their asses.   
  
Cullen might have said something in response, but Varric didn’t stay around long enough to hear it, following Pup’s tracks through the snow. _“At least she’s not trying cover her tracks”_ he thought, trudging through the knee-deep snow. The kid was Dalish, if anyone knew how to disappear in a forest it was her, she must have been really out of her element to do otherwise.  
  
Still, Varric wasn’t complaining. He was a decent tracker, but even he couldn’t trace a Dalish girl who really _really_ wanted to disappear. Never the less, he quickened his pace, wanting to catch up to her before she changed her mind and vanish for good.  
  
The dwarf breathed a sigh of relief as he approached the girl, panting heavily and clutching her side.  
  
“Hey Pup, glad I caught up to you.” The kid spun around, eyes wide in shock as she stumbled backwards.  
  
“I’m not going back” Furiously shaking her head, she gripped a small knife, brandishing it at him with white knuckles.  
  
“You don’t have to convince me,” he answered with a smile, slowly raising both of his hands, “I’m not a fan of making people do things they don’t want to do. Thought you could use a little going away gift.” Her eyes darted to the cloth wrapped package Varric had wedged under her arm.  
  
She still held the knife, but at least the kid had stopped backing away from him. It was a start.  
  
“You’re lying.” She said after a short silence, decidedly quieter than she had been before.  
  
“Nah, honestly I’m glad you’re getting out of here while you still can.” He said with a shrug, slowly unwrapping what he had brought with him. “You didn’t choose this, you should at least get to choose whether or not to stick around.”  
  
Apparently confident that Varric wasn’t about to hogtie her and drag her back kicking and screaming to the Seeker, Pup lowered the knife, carefully tucking it into the waistband of her trousers. When she didn’t say anything in response, Varric held out the gift for her to claim. An intricately carved longbow, decorated with detailed halla and trees on every surface that could be worked with. Really, it wasn’t a gift from him, just something that had caught his eye at the temple. Something that unbelievably elfy had to belong to the kid; there weren’t exactly an abundance of Dalish present at the conclave.  
  
“Revas,” Pup breathed, a small smile lighting up her face, crinkling the delicate tattoos on her cheekbones. It was possibly the first time Varric had seen the girl smile. “I-I don’t understand, I thought I’d lost it.”  
  
“Thought it might be yours,” Varric said, slowly moving towards her with the bow outstretched. She took it without hesitation, turning over the weapon as carefully as she would a newborn, “Had to restring it, but I’m just surprised it stood up against an explosion.” At that, Pup gave a quiet laugh.  
  
“Ironbark,” she explained, “Revas traded his best work to pay for the wood, all because I apparently break everything I look at. Dahn’direlan.” She chided with a click of her tongue, though she still smiled fondly.  
  
“Is this Revas a friend of yours?” Varric enquired and the kid shrugged.  
  
“He is… a friend. It’s good to still have something from him.” She didn’t offer anything more, and Varric didn’t push. They stood there in comfortable silence for a minute or two, before Pup’s head cocked to the side.  
  
“Why don’t you leave? The Seeker said you weren’t like me. A prisoner, I mean.”   
  
“It’s uh… not that simple.” He managed to respond “Thousands of people died on that mountain. I was almost one of them, and now there’s a hole in the sky. I like to think I’m an irresponsible as the next guy, but even I can’t walk away from that.” He smiled sadly at the rather uncomfortable girl in front of him, as she shifted from foot to bare foot.   
  
“I advise you to get as far away from here as possible, before everything goes to shit.” Varric reached for Bianca at his back, grabbing a handful of crossbow bolts, extending them to the kid. “Here, they’re not exactly made for longbows, but I’m sure you can manage. Are you gonna be alright with what you’ve got?” The elf smiled at his concern.  
  
“I’ve survived longer with less. Thank you, by the way.”   
  
Varric shrugged off her thanks as he readjusted his load. “Don’t mention it. Thank Revas when you see him next, he’s the one who made your indestructible bow.”  
  
“No, I mean it.” She stepped towards him, fist on her heart in gratitude. “You were kind to me when you had no reason to be. Ma serannas, Varric.” And with that, she turned on her heel and left. Varric watched her depart for a while, until she disappeared through the tree line.   
  
_Shit,_ he thought, making his slow journey back to Haven,  _Cassandra's gonna kill me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen translations:
> 
> Uren'daorsha - Flat ear  
> Dahn’direlan - Idiot (literally bee puncher)


End file.
